


Truces and Table Settings

by shouldgowork



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending (Depending on your Morals), M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldgowork/pseuds/shouldgowork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's feelings about his and Hannibal's survival are somewhat mixed; Bedelia's are decidedly more negative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truces and Table Settings

Will woke up with a dull, icy ache in his chest that indicated he hadn't yet found himself in either heaven or hell. Tentatively, he opened an eye and found himself facing the depressingly familiar sight of a motel ceiling. He sat up in the bed, his breath catching as he saw a similarly battered Hannibal seated on the desk chair opposite him, immaculate posture and well-bred looks contrasting with ragged wounds and terrible décor. Will was giddy with relief and could hardly stop himself from laughing.

'You took me to a motel room?'

'No, I did.' Chiyoh answered, emerging from the bathroom holding a bloodied towel and making Will jump in the process.

'Even if I had, it's surely not as unpleasant as where you took me.' Hannibal added in an even tone, his face a picture of detached amusement both feigned and real. Will said nothing, dropping his gaze with embarrassment, and Hannibal's smile widened to one of triumph; and with these two small acts a wordless set of apologies, acceptances, and truces were formed.

'How...?' Will began but trailed off, the stitches in his cheek becoming more uncomfortable with each word. He gestured vaguely and Chiyoh took up the thread of conversation.

'I was there that night.'

‘I had asked Chiyoh to follow me if I ever left the institution, and she kindly agreed.' Hannibal added in reaction to Will’s eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

'After you jumped' Chiyoh continued, Will wincing at her bluntness, 'I went down to the nearest beach and stole a boat. It was so dark and the sea so cold I never really thought I would find you alive, but I did Both unconscious, but alive.'

Here she broke off momentarily and glanced at Hannibal, Will had a strong suspicion that this was connected to a half memory of Hannibal holding his head out of the water as darkness blotted everything else out, but he tried not to think too much about it.

'Then Chiyoh took us here. It's a few miles from the house, just in case. That was four days ago, and you really haven't missed much in the mean time.'

Will nodded in acknowledgement and sat slumped over slightly, his mind racing as he processed the events of that night. He had, no, _they_ had killed someone. In perfect harmony, as if the will of god himself were behind them. Which, following Bedelia’s logic, it had been. If Hannibal was indeed his god, he himself had been Saint Theresa in that moment, and his own ecstasy, while more murderous, was every bit as divine as hers.(1)

For a few precious seconds that night, nothing else in the world had mattered, except the warmth and the reflection of the moonlight, first from the glistening blood on his skin and then from the skin of the living man who embraced him. But then, from nowhere, he thought of Molly, of Willy and even of Jack, of his parents, his dogs, his vet and the cashier at the nearest store and with each person, each normal person, who would have felt revulsion where he felt elation, his self-loathing grew.

‘What now?' He finally asked, trying to distract himself with practicalities.

'Well, that rather depends on Chiyoh.' In one fluid movement Hannibal had risen and was standing in front of her, and Will steeled himself to watch another death. Instead, Hannibal rested a hand on her left arm, his expression an alchemical mix of fear, hope and affection.

'I must ask you to do something. It won't be easy or pleasant but it would save our lives and, afterwards, I promise I will never ask you to do anything else. It would be a very charitable deed.'

Will couldn’t help but notice that here he swapped arms, touching her right one quickly before switching back to the left.

'What would you have me do?'

'The charitable deed I beg of you is this. You must go back to the house and allow me to secure you in the kitchen, in view of Dolarhyde’s body. You must then wait for the FBI to find the house, and you, as they surely must soon. You will then tell them that I kidnapped you on my escape and was planning to eat you. From your imprisonment you watched helplessly as Will and I killed Dolarhyde in self defense, before Will magnanimously and heroically dragged me off the cliff, destroying himself and the monster. If you will also allow me to inflict some lacerations and bruises to support your story, I will.'

Again, the arm taps. Almost instantly she nodded and, with a request by Hannibal to go and buy vodka and aspirin to ease her imminent pain, she left obediently. This confirmed Will's suspicions.

'Charitable deed?' He said, tapping his arms exaggeratedly. 'Just a little insurance plan I put in place many years ago. If you want to tell her what I’ve done to her mind, be my guest. It will break the conditioning, and she will be free to leave. Of course,' He went on with a smirk, 'she may agree to it anyway. If she stops helping me now, she invalidates her life's work. And in any case, I like to think she's quite fond of me in her own way.'

Will considered this proposition, then considered the prospect of himself and Hannibal back in custody, remembered that Chiyoh had both shot him and pushed him from a moving train and shook his head.

'Are you sure? I will hurt her a lot, and the alcohol will wear off.'

He shook his head again.

'You are becoming quite vicious, Will.' Hannibal said, practically beaming with pride. Will said nothing but stared down at the ugly, rough bed sheet as guilt began to gnaw at him. They sat in silence until she returned and Hannibal excused them both.

‘I’ll be back within a few hours but you might want to say goodbye to Chiyoh.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Yes, goodbye Mr Graham.’

He settled back into his pillow as they shut the door, and wasn’t completely surprised to find Abigail sitting next to him. Her neck oozed blood slowly as she sat there. He said nothing, and for a long while neither did she, both of them half-reclining and staring at the now vacant chair. Finally she turned towards him, spilling blood onto the bed, and spoke.

‘I’m glad you finally see how beautiful it is as well. I had no one to share it with when he first showed me.’

‘It wasn’t as beautiful when it was you.’ Will replied easily, his wound no hindrance to speaking in this imaginary world. He couldn’t deny that he was still relieved they had both survived and had no plans to remedy this; in the lifetime it had taken for them to hit the water he had been able to go through every stage of regret about jumping. But this did nothing to suppress his guilt and shame. He’d been conscious for less than half an hour and could barely speak, but he’d already collaborated in a mutilation, partly to protect the man who cut Abigail Hobbs’ throat open.

‘I would have done the same.’ She said, ‘Please don’t feel bad about me. I think I even would have killed you if he’d asked me to.’ Though this Abigail was little more than a projection of his own guilt he couldn’t deny that these claims were probably true. He sat up restlessly and put his head in his hands.

‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t undo what I’ve done or unfeel how I felt doing it. I want to do it again, and do it with him, but-’ He stopped, unsure whether to finish the sentence with ‘ _how can I possibly want that_ ’ and ‘ _how will we get away with it_ ’ and feeling more sick than ever as a result. She sat for a moment, considering his words as she twisted her hair, slick with her blood, round her fingers.

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way. I did.’ She said at last, smiling sadly and vanishing back into nothing, along with her bloodstains on the bed. Will sat, the passage of time beyond his comprehension, as he considered her words and his own feelings, unable to separate the ecstasy of the kill and the unfamiliar peace of that steady heartbeat and those steadying arms, from the horror and self-loathing these had both aroused in him. Every contradictory emotion blazed brightly in his mind, blinding and deafening him to reality, until a key scraped in the door’s lock. For a split second he hoped it was the FBI, here to arrest him, stop him and put him away forever and tell him they’d killed Hannibal, but his heart still leaped with relief and something less definable when the man himself walked in. A small spray of blood on his cheek was the only evidence, surely left deliberately for Will’s benefit, of preceding events. Seeing Will’s eyes on the blood he shrugged.

‘The wounds are fairly superficial, she won’t have many scars when she recovers, and there will be a lot of compensation for the FBIs mistakes to console herself with. They’d probably give her Jack’s head on a plate if she asks, after this. Perhaps it’s a worthwhile sacrifice to make for all that.'

‘And us?’

‘Us.’ Hannibal let the word hang in the air a while, with all its connotations, and Will couldn’t entirely suppress a thrill of excitement at the prospect of another-

He wouldn’t allow himself to finish that thought. Not right now, at least.

‘As for us,’ Hannibal resumed, gently lifting Will forward a little to rearrange his pillow, ‘we will stay here a few more days until you are stronger. Then, Europe. I think we’ll start in Brussels. I haven’t been for many years and there’s an inspiring _Flaying of Marsyas_ at the Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts I would like to see again.’

‘I’ve heard a lot about the beer there.’ Will struggled out through a twisted smile.

‘Yes, the local food is excellent.’

Will tried not to shiver with anticipation and failed entirely.

_18 months later_

Bedelia woke up sat at her dining table. She was confused, so confused; she didn’t remember falling asleep there the night before, and in any case it appeared to be early evening. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that she was wearing an emerald satin dress she hadn’t dug out since at least two charity auctions ago. Even more confusing was the dull ache in her leg, and the long time it took her brain to process her desire to look at it. She thought that perhaps she’d come down with a sudden fever and, when she was finally able to see that her leg was mysteriously gone, her suspicion that this was all just a fever dream grew.

But that ache in her leg didn’t quite fit with this hypothesis.

And then there was the leg itself, steaming fragrantly at the table, decorated with an artistry that pointed to only one artist on earth. Her mind immediately went numb with fear as adrenaline began to shoot through her body. She tried to rise, to run away, as if she could, to call the police, to jump out of the window and end it all – anything. She tried to scream; she wanted to cry. Every fibre of her thrashed and cried out for deliverance of any kind. All of this manifested as no more than a small groan, but it was enough to draw the smartly heeled footsteps, and their owner, into view.

‘Hello Bedelia.’ He said pleasantly, tilting her face slightly and stooping so she could look up at him. He thought he could see her eyes widening slightly and couldn’t help but be gratified. ‘I suppose you’re surprised to see me. I apologise for dropping by unexpectedly, but it was a little urgent.’

She was indeed surprised, almost as surprised as she was scared, to see Will Graham’s face hovering over her own. Her eyes darted round the room.

‘He’s not here.’ He said, guessing her thoughts, quickly shuffling her chair round to prove his point with an airy, carefree gesture and, even now, Bedelia was in awe of the change to the demeanor of the man before her. If he had indeed faced off with Hannibal to the death, as the long scar on his face suggested and that poor young woman had testified, it appeared he had absorbed part of his power just as the Tooth Fairy had hoped to.

‘Don’t think we’re dining alone, though. I’m not sure we like each other enough to make that anything other than awkward.’ He continued, pointing at the two place settings aside from her own. ‘Although I’m not entirely sure who‘s coming. Or if we’ll actually end up making it to dinner, especially you.’ He added, pulling up her footstool, sitting before her and resting his chin on his hands playfully. ‘Well, everything is either cooking next door or resting in here, so we’ve got a bit of time for a catch up.’

He waited mockingly for a reply he knew to be impossible. ‘I guess I’ll start, then. I‘ve got to say, I was pretty surprised to find out that you believed Chiyoh’s story. You know, Chiyoh? That girl who escaped? Old friend of Hannibal’s. Almost counts as an old friend of mine by now. But I guess you wanted to think you were free. Not sure if you every truly did, though.’ He added as an afterthought, looking significantly at her extensive and half empty alcohol cabinet.

‘And haven’t you been busy with that freedom.’ He went on, dragging her chair slightly so she faced him head on and putting a copy of _My Life with a Monster_ up to her face, her own image, sitting on a desk, her long legs crossed, brought her back to earth from her shock and once again she tried to struggle. All she got for her trouble was a slight shift in her arms.

‘Very, very busy.’ He continued, throwing the book on the floor and producing a pamphlet of her lecture tour, _Freed from the Shadow_ , from his shirt pocket. ‘It’s not very flattering, to him or me.’ This followed the book onto the floor and he suddenly stood up very deliberately. She tried to scream, apologise, beg, curse. The most pathetic whimper came out.

‘It’s no good.’ He was still smiling, but his face had changed beneath it, had fundamentally and subtly rearranged itself into a face full of spite and unmercy. He regarded her in cool silence as she tried to plead with her eyes, even as she saw it was as useless as a housefly imploring a god. Finally, her timer went off in the kitchen, the loosened mask snapped back into place and he looked every inch the pleasant dinner companion once more.

‘Please excuse me, I have to go check on your reduction.’ He left the room and her mind raced. She couldn’t leave, even if she’d had two legs; she couldn’t even stand right now. But she’d been able to move her arms slightly and she clung to that fact. Experimentally, she bent her fingers. A small amount of movement. She dug deep and painstakingly lifted her hand onto the table, slowly managing to form a claw with it and swipe a fork into her lap. Perhaps if she waited long enough, it would wear off, and he’d get a little to close to taunt her and then-

It was a vanishingly small chance of escape but there was nothing else. She had barely managed to conceal it in her napkin and move the arm back to her side when he returned.

‘We’re nearly ready.’ He said, fussing with a dish of roasted endive and a sauceboat she didn’t dare look in. The leg continued to steam gently, rising small waves of nausea in her every time she caught sight of it, even though she had started salivating at its enticing aroma; she had not, after all, eaten in nearly a day.

‘I suppose you’re wondering who’s joining us.’ Now that he said it she was, wondering if he really had killed Hannibal, either then, or later, if he’d abandoned him, if he’d taken another like himself under his wing.

‘Actually, it might be Hannibal.’ He finally said. ‘Then again, it might be Jack. Might be the FBI, or the cops, or the Lindbergh Baby; it’s not up to me. But it doesn’t matter who comes, they won’t be able to take you from me.’ He seemed excited and a little distracted, as if this were the start of a game, and she supposed that it was. Her life and her leg were just a game and she didn’t even know who was playing with them. Her fear was beginning to give way to anger and defiance, and she felt her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow. At this, Will poured some wine into her glass and held it up to her lips.

‘I’d drink up if I were you. For a start, I’m still a bit off about the doses on painkillers and I wouldn’t count on it lasting that much longer. And I want us to get something straight. I’m sure you don’t think you’re going to eat anything tonight, but you will. You will or I won’t give you painkillers or put you under when I take the next piece. I just thought we’d make that clear now, and start with something simple.’ He said, tipping the glass gently, and she managed an obedient sip, wanting to cower away from the monster wearing Will Graham’s skin that stood before her, her short-lived rebellion quashed.

‘Good.’ He said, as he gently wiped a small bead of wine from the corner of her mouth using his handkerchief before settling down once more, sipping at his own wine.

‘I suppose, if you’re not still in deep shock, you must be wondering at my change of outlook – that sounds so narcissistic when I say it out loud. But even so, I bet I’m right. You might as well be curious even if you’re not. Blind terror will get boring after a while.’ Bedelia hadn’t yet reached boredom but he went on nonetheless. ‘I guess it wasn’t quite so… sunny, even the last time we met. The guilt was just overwhelming for such a long time, not that your therapy sessions ever did much good.’ He said, with a barbed look. She supposed she must have looked curious despite it all, or perhaps he just wanted to be able to tell more people than just Hannibal about the emotional breakthroughs of his becoming, as he persevered with his one-sided discussion. ‘Well, I’ll settle your professional curiosity, for what it was ever worth. It all finally fell into place for me, when I thought about a conversation I’d had with Abigail Hobbs after she died. We talked, once, about the endless possibilities of choice and deed, the realities that may come into being when different paths are taken. She told me, or maybe I told myself, that if this is true, perhaps what we do in our reality, we were always going to do. Which means, some other Will killed Hannibal, and another at least regretted that he didn’t. Others never even met him, imagine that? Maybe no other Will but me cut off your leg. Those other, more virtuous, Wills can be such a consolation. Though,’ He went on, whispering conspiratorially in her ear now, ‘I find I need them less every time.’

The phrase ‘every time’ rang around her head for the short time before there was a knock at the door. Will, taking a knife out of his pocket, moved behind Bedelia and held it up to her throat.

‘It’s unlocked.’ He shouted in the direction of the door. It opened and Bedelia was less than relieved when Hannibal walked through.

‘Good evening Will, Good evening Bedelia.’ He said agreeably, his eyes flicking to the knife at her neck with an appreciative smile at the irony of the situation. ‘It’s good to see you.’ This seemed to be aimed solely at Will.

‘Well, I’m glad you got my note.’

‘It was extremely witty.’ He replied in a highly indulgent tone that made Bedelia certain it hadn’t been written on paper. She felt fresh shivers of terror to be face to face with Hannibal, and his composure and politeness only added to the feeling.

‘I’m glad _you_ came.’ Will replied with emphasis.

‘Calling the authorities didn’t really appeal, even if you were being a little childish.’

‘It would have been the only way to stop me, other than agreeing to it.’ Bedelia felt the knife pressing further to her throat, still unable to do anything more than paw lightly at her own lap. ‘So, what did you decide to do in the end?’

‘Oh, I did kill her, Will. But she still lives.’

Will made a small, methodical cut to Bedelia’s neck and her breath hitched audibly as she felt a cold trickle running down to her collar bone.

‘Whoops, I seem to have slipped. I guess it’s cause I’m such a twitchy little man.’ She felt the breath on the back of her head indicating that this last point was directed more than her and whimpered again.

‘What do you mean.’ He said, now straightened up again, his voice like a razor and all playfulness gone.

‘I had to fulfill my promise Will, you know I’m a man of my word. But I thought about what you said, and managed to find a compromise we could both agree to. So I stopped Alana’s heart and restarted it. Just to demonstrate to her that her life is still mine, even though I allow her to live it out. I made sure Margot was there, partly so Alana would know exactly what happened, but also because I wanted her to know what, and whom, she owed this intercession to. They won’t hear from us again, and I doubt they’ll tell a soul about my visit.’

Bedelia felt Will remove the knife and heard him place it on the table. He felt a wave of relief wash over him; no amount of reasoning had been able to reconcile him to killing Alana and destroying the happiness of Margot and the child. Perhaps some other Will had managed it but he was glad to have passed that buck. Bedelia, facing away, saw none of this and filled up the silence with hope, hope that if she could talk, she could remind them of the terrible things they’d done to each other, turn them against one another and somehow escape.

Hannibal spoke first, dropping his guarded formality and sounding almost tired as he began to remove gloves and scarf. ‘I must admit that it wasn’t too difficult to deprive myself; Alana had become so interesting since her fall. I had truly started to regret my promise to her.’

She heard Will laugh, a genuine sound, fragile and relieved, the monster temporarily caged somewhere within him.

‘I suspected as much, and I’m also glad I didn’t have to deprive you of your pleasure.’ At this she felt her shoulder being tapped. ‘Tell me about the hunt.’

‘There’s not much to tell. It was quite difficult to reach her. Unlike some, she knew I was still alive and she’d retired to an old chateau on Lake Geneva with some very experienced guards.’

‘Not experienced enough, it seems.’

‘No, not experienced enough.’ Hannibal replied, finally entering the room properly, hanging up his coat on the old, familiar stand and approaching the table. Will instinctually stood to one side, silently waiting for the appraisal of the other man and giving up his temporary control over the rest of Bedelia’s body and lifespan.

‘This smells splendid.’ Came the eventual judgment after a careful sweep of the table had ended in Hannibal standing over the leg, languidly fanning what steam remained at his nose and inhaling appreciatively.

‘Well, I did learn from a master chef.’ Will replied, his mind racing through the carefully preserved memories of cooking lessons; the mincemeat he’d made of a man in an English pub who’d threatened to turn him into just that for spilling his drink; the woman who had kicked her dog in front of Will for no reason in Paris, only to be made to eat that leg, stewed, some time later; the lesson in curing tongue whose subject had answered her phone during _Salome_ at the Vienna State Opera.

‘I think you’ve added something new, though?’

‘Smoked salt and some redcurrants. The sourness seemed appropriate for this dish.’ It took Bedelia a moment to realize that dish meant her.

‘Very droll. I think I might do something similar with the cheeks.’

‘She’s yours now. It’s entirely up to you.’

‘If only you were always so compliant.’

‘You’d get bored.’

As they slipped into the easy back and forth that had ripened as they criss-crossed Europe, Bedelia could see that her plan to talk her way out of this was laughable and she clung tightly to her fork. The devil himself couldn’t have gotten between them. Ignoring her presence completely, Hannibal turned to face Will and stared at him with an intense possessiveness that Bedelia had only otherwise seen him use on people he intended to devour more conventionally, though with more affection and less naked aggression.

‘I missed you too.’ Will said with utter sincerity. Hannibal, as if still mesmerized, took a step towards Will, whose eyes flicked to Bedelia, and, finally, they both seemed to remember they were not alone. Hannibal followed his eyes to give her a mere glance, brief, but long enough for her to see all affection gone, and aggression naked once more.

‘It looks like you’ve had an exciting couple of weeks, since you left.’ Hannibal said at length, those last three words smoothing over the final terrible argument, so bad neither of them had noticed when the man tied to their dining room chair had stopped choking on his own blood and finally died, his death rattle drowned out by the loud threats of mutual recriminations, over a subject that had been simmering for months.

‘I’ve got so much to catch you up on. I have the most interesting plans for Freddie Lounds.’ He replied, which Hannibal took as a cue to sit, beginning to move towards the chair opposite Bedelia but Will put a hand on his arm.

‘Oh, no, you’ve got to sit in the middle, so I can be at your right hand. Just a little joke Bedelia and I shared once.’

‘How flattering of you.’ Hannibal said, finally giving Bedelia his attention, waiting for an answer, and at last noticing that her silence up to this point had not been self-imposed or caused by terror alone.

‘She can’t talk.’ Will explained seeing his confusion. Hannibal scanned the table again for charcuterie and began to put his hand at her lips to nudge them open.

‘No, it’s still in there.’ Will continued, ‘I just gave her a higher dose than you would. I didn’t look forward to spending much time alone with her, before we were joined by another guest.’

‘That’s a shame, I would have loved to discuss her latest books over dinner, especially her collaboration with Frederick. It certainly was insightful.’

‘It’s wearing off, as you can see. I’m sure she’d love to, soon.’ Will replied as she managed a groan this time that sounded slightly more like ‘please’ than any of the previous ones.

‘It sounds like our host would like to start. The joint is nearly getting cold after all, and everything else appears to be ready.’

‘You were a little late.’ Will said sulkily.

‘I apologise.’ He replied, reaching for the wine and uncorking it. ‘Côte de Brouilly? An excellent choice, you do spoil me.’

‘I thought you might like it.’

‘Yes, you certainly have thought of every detail. Although you seem to have forgotten a fork.’

Will looked down the table at her place setting and then back at the other man with a sly grin. In a glance Bedelia saw that they both knew exactly what had happened to her fork, and realized she might not be the first person they’d had this conversation about. The bottom dropped out of her stomach again, as the last straw she’d clutched at slipped from her grasp and dropped with a metallic clatter on the floor.

‘It seems Bedelia can hardly wait for dinner.’ Will said and reached for the wine. Both of their glasses refilled, he and Hannibal clinked them and toasted the beginning of another truce. Bedelia tried to scream again, but this time it came out more like a low, rattling laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa is a famous story immortalised by Bernini; She claimed to have had an encounter with an angel of which she left an account, partially included below: 
> 
> I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God.


End file.
